


Brat

by HJashin



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Boys' Love, Funny, M/M, Out of Character, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HJashin/pseuds/HJashin
Summary: A bratty camper view for the attention of a certain temperamental camp counselor. SebaCiel
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Brat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in Kuroshitsuji.

“Sebastian! Let’s get married.”

Sebastian Michaelis looked up from his clipboard, eyeing the dark, blue-haired boy who had shoved every, single person off the Sebastian train to get his attention for the past three and a half weeks. His attempts were clever, not that the man would ever voice it, but the boy was too much. 

“Oh, shit, excuse me, was that a question?” he asked, monotonic and dismissive.

On the outside, the camp counselor appeared cool and composed, bathing the kid in the attention that he craved with his pointed gaze, but deep, deep down... he wanted to strangle the boy with his bare hands.

The boy pouted, something Sebastian had become accustomed to, and stuck his hand back into his bag of chips. The counselor eyed it distastefully from behind his sunglasses. The pout wasn’t anything new. The kid had pouted when Sebastian refused to share his cherries with him, when he took away the soda he bought from the vending machine and wouldn’t give it back till his parents came to pick him up, and just now when he was denied of something he wanted. If anything, Sebastian would have been more surprised had he not pouted. 

“Must you always stuff your face with junk food? You’ll grow fat and undesirable if you keep at it.” 

“I’m a growing boy,” he retorted, licking his fingers clean of the salty crumbs. “But is that an indirect way of telling me how you like your boys, hm, Sebastian? Pretty and slim?” The boy wiggled his hips suggestively and laughed.

“In your fucking dreams.”

“Oh, you know you’re in my dreams, Sebastian,” the boy purred, sidling next to the temperamental man. 

“Go away, Ciel.”

The pout returned. “But I need you to come with me so we can get married,” the boy whined, and Sebastian had an intense urge to bend the boy over his knee and give him a well-deserved spanking on his pale, white ass for his horrible manners. “I want one of those blue Ring Pops, and Alois said they’re almost out.” 

“Then ask Alois to marry you.”

“But he already married Claude! And I’m so totally not alright with polygamy.” The boy tugged at his blue uniform shirt, hoping to get the counselor onto his feet, but Sebastian didn’t budge from his seat on top of the table. 

‘I’d rather marry roadkill than you.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Now, go away.”

“You’re being mean.”

“No shit. You just noticed?”

Ciel frowned as he sifted his mind for tricks he could use. He’d make the man surrender if it was the last thing he did before the end of the day. Mind made up, he wrapped his arms around one of Sebastian’s bare leg and abruptly sat down onto the patch of grass at his feet. 

It startled the counselor, and he undoubtedly squirmed at how fucking uncomfortable it was. “Ciel,” Sebastian growled in warning, “fucking let go right now.”

“No,” the boy grunted. His grip grew tighter when Sebastian reached his hands down and attempted to pry him off. “I’m not going to let go until you say yes.” 

The more Sebastian tried prying those sneaky fingers away from his calf the more Ciel hugged it closer to his chest. “Say yes,” the boy demanded as he began rubbing his soft cheek against the counselor’s leg, “or else I’ll molest your leg, Sebastian.”

“Fucking weirdo,” the man grumbled, finally relenting and leaning back. “Fine, I’ll go. Now, let go.”

Ciel perked up immediately and shot up onto his feet. He tugged the counselor off his seat and eagerly dragged him across the field. “We have to hurry!” he said excitedly. “Those assholes better not have stolen all of them. I’d go Hulk on them!” 

“Pfft, you’re so fucking tiny, kid,” Sebastian pointed out, prying his wrist out of Ciel’s grip. Unsuccessfully. “I doubt there’s much Hulk in you.”

From behind Ciel, Sebastian noticed that the kid’s shoulders had squared when they came to an abrupt stop. There was a line for the marriage altar, but it was short enough that Sebastian noticed they weren’t giving out Ring Pops, but white cake and peachy-colored drinks instead.

More sickening than the sight of hyper children and sweets was the evident monstrosity that was the altar. It somewhat resembled a nature-themed wedding with its branch-like appearance adorned with leaves that coiled around its arch, but in reality it looked like a crappy, elongated bird’s nest that had no foundation whatsoever and would collapse at the mere whisper of wind. 

“What is this shitty stuff?!”

The angry, high-pitched cry of the boy next to him drew his gaze away from Mey-Rin and Finny who were serving cake to the newlyweds. “Ciel,” Sebastian warned when the scream garnered the attention of those around them, “language.” Even as he said this, Sebastian was more wary of the temper the child had than his choice of words.

“Sebastian!” Finny sighed as he jogged up to the counselor, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his arm and gave a small huff. “We ran out of Ring Pops.” The blonde counselor bent down slightly and rested his hand on the upset boy’s head. “Ciel,” Finny said with a gentle edge to his voice, wanting to console the boy, “I’m sorry. I know you really wanted one, but hey, there’s always a next time right?”

The boy smacked the blonde counselor’s hand away from his hair. “Whatever,” he growled, ignoring Finny’s stunned face, and stomped back from where he came from. 

Straightening himself, he shot the dark-haired man a small smile. “Watch out for him, will ya, Sebastian? You know how he gets.”

“Fuck,” Sebastian cursed, forcing himself to turn around to follow the kid. With each dreadful step, the sun blared in his face. “It’s too fucking hot for this shit.”

When he reached the red tent, he deftly dug his fingers into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out an unwanted treat that he had gotten earlier. “Here,” he said, tossing the foil-wrapped candy onto the table in front of the fickle Ciel.

The expression on the kid’s face changed almost automatically, and Sebastian sighed. God forbid he had done something nice to spur on the kid’s infatuation to him. The boy’s greedy, little hands snatched the Ring Pop that was thrown at him and eagerly tore it open, shoving the entire thing in his mouth as though he was starving for a taste before spitting it out onto his palm and sliding it onto his finger.

“That’s disgusting, Ciel.”

But the boy only moaned and continued to make love to the candy profusely. “Where’d you get this?” he asked after minutes had flew by and the counselor had settled down comfortably on top of the table with his legs propped onto the bench. 

“I was over there earlier,” he said dismissively, resting the side of his face against the inside of his palm. He looked out into the open lacrosse field and when he spotted said red-head stuck with supervision inside one of the jumpers, he had an overwhelming urge to smile darkly. He looked like he was suffering. Good. 

“Who’d you marry to get it?” Ciel asked flippantly, peering at the counselor through his bangs and biting his lip in a way that made Sebastian wonder if he was holding back his expressive nature.

Sebastian arched a brow at the boy who tried to casually interrogate him as he tried to discern what stupid thoughts he was having now. “I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business, now, is it?” he stated slowly, an infuriating smirk curving onto his lips. That earned him a glare from the fair-skinned boy, who hopped off the bench and made his way in front of Sebastian to block his view from Grell’s suffering. 

“It was Grell, wasn’t it?” Ciel accused, eyes narrowing in annoyance as he pointed his thin, candy-decorated finger at Sebastian. When the dark-haired counselor simply blinked, the boy let out an aggravated growl. “That flamboyant, good-for-nothing fucktard,” he spat.

With the pointed look from Sebastian that screamed for him to shut up, he huffed and dropped his arm. “Whatever,” he muttered, looking away from those sunglasses-encased eyes that he knew were burning a disapproving gaze straight through him. 

"Go bless others with your presence."

Ciel merely laughed gleefully at the sarcasm-laced statement and twirled around on the tip of his toes like the spoiled prince he was. “Thanks, Sebastian,” the boy sung, mouth and teeth blue from the candy in his hand, as he waved the candy in the air to let the counselor know what he was referring to. “But just so you know, if Grell does something like that again, don’t blame me if I claw his eyes out.” The deadly serious look in his eyes didn’t match the sweet smile on his face as he conveyed his intentions, but before the Sebastian could say anything, the boy grinned cheekily at him and danced off with a skip in his step.

“Fucking brat,” Sebastian muttered.

How normal was it for twelve-year-olds to say shit like that?

xXx

Four weeks ago...

It was another Coney Island day.

Blistering heat. So hot that you could feel your skin burn underneath your clothes and certainly so humid that any amount of sunscreen you put on won’t stave off ugly tans. 

Sebastian Michaelis was not someone who owned such a thing before accepting the camp counselor position. His pale, fair skin and luscious lips were far better suited indoors, where he facilitated events like he did year-round, which is why today he lathered not two, but three coats of sunscreen on his face and exposed limbs. He absolutely loathed summer.

"Stupid, motherfucking sun," he muttered angrily under his breath as he glared at it behind his sunglasses. It was only seven-thirty, and it felt like ninety degrees outdoors. Additionally, he had been dubbed the check-in table counselor for the day, which forced him to sit out in the blazing heat for two hours until camp officially started.

His eyes trailed longingly to the three, color-coded tents set up on the field, one for each age group. Why couldn’t they set up a tent above the check-in table? Those cheap assholes.

Unlike all the other counselors who were led through a screening process before being hired, Sebastian wasn’t working the job for kicks and the decent pay of ten dollars an hour in a city where expenses far exceeded the norm. He was a tennis player and, when the mood struck, the occasional yoga instructor. The job had been presented to him by the director of the camp and his occasional tennis partner, Baldroy, who straightout begged Sebastian to take the place of a fellow counselor who had dropped out after the first week.

“If you take the job, I will be in your debt, Sebastian,” the man had told him in an effort to recruit him. “Anything you ask for that is in my power, I shall give you.”

“Fine,” he had grunted. “You’d better fucking keep your word.” 

And Sebastian went home, and everything was good… until, come Monday morning, he was presented with a list of kids whose ages ranged from seven to eight.

He had stared at the phrase “Inter 3” sitting innocently at the the top, left-hand corner of the red sheet in his grip. “Are you fucking with me?” he asked, slowly and deadly as he eyed the list and then the man who handed it to him. “Why am I being handed a red clipboard? I’m pretty fucking sure I didn’t sign up to be a babysitter,” he had said with a glare.

Baldroy had laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided eye contact. “The upper groups were pretty small this week, so we combined the four groups into three. You’ll have to wait till the end of the week when we do schedule changes to be an upper counselor.”

And then Sebastian couldn’t help but explode. “These kids barely know what hand-eye coordination is! Shit, do I strike you as someone who would give a fuck about crying kids? I’m more likely to make them cry, and then I’d probably fucking laugh.”

“Sorry, Sebastian, I hadn’t expected you’d accept my request,” the man said, “but you’re the perfect counselor to whip those kids into shape.”

“Fuck,” the man growled, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Are you smoking crack, Baldroy? Maybe that new, improved shit that they’re selling on the streets is fucking with your head because your dumbass is delusional if you think I’m working with these little runts.”

“Just tag along for the ride, Sebastian,” the man suggested, laughing and making light of the situation. “Just five days, and before you know it, I’ll have you transferred to the upper camp. If your campers cry, just have your partner handle it.”

“Partner?” the dark-haired male had inquired, devoid of any emotion. This was the first time he was hearing of this. Apparently. “What partner?” he asked, voice turning deadly.

“It’s all in that clipboard,” the man said dismissively, shoving the man out of his office.

And that was how Sebastian became partners with Grell Sutcliffe. A nightmare in its own right.

And it was now Tuesday morning, and Sebastian was being roasted like a sweet potato under the blistering heat of the ball of fire they call the sun. Campers slowly dragged their feet through the gates. The younger ones signed and walked in with their parents while the older ones were left to their own devices.

“Last name?” Sebastian asked, an easy-going smile sliding into place as a little girl walked in with her much older mother who, quite frankly, looked like her grandma. 

“Frederickson.” The older woman smiled at him while her eyes ate up Sebastian with fervor.

The counselor fluidly skimmed through the lower camp list. “Elizabeth?” he asked without sparing her a glance.

“That’s right,” the woman purred, smothering her hand on top of Sebastian’s when she placed it on the clipboard next to the child’s name.

Sebastian resisted the ruthless urge to stab the back of her wrinkly ass hand with the tip of his black pen and merely shrugged her hand off and checked off the name. “You’re all set,” he intoned, forcing himself to remain polite even when he was disgusted at the sight of the woman licking her lips and wanted to scream incessant expletives at her.

“Fucking milfs,” he muttered under his breath as soon as the lady walked away with her child. “I swear.”

Not another minute had passed when two older, albeit short, boys stepped through the main gate. “Last names?” he asked indifferently, picking up the upper camp clipboard. 

“Alois Trancy and Ciel Phantomhive,” the blond boy stated matter-of-factly, standing in fromt of Sebastian like he won some sort of prize for declaring their names.

“I said last names, dipshit,” he muttered, garnering an incredulous look from the boy.

“You can’t be cursing at camp!” the boy screeched, pointing an accusing finger at the dark-haired counselor. “I’m gonna tell Baldroy on you!”

“Grow the fuck up,” he said, marking off both names. “Now, move along.” He waved his hand in dismissal, and the blond huffed angrily and stomped away, but his friend who stood next to him didn’t budge.

The counselor lowered his shades to the bridge of his nose and fixed the kid with his vermillion, blank stare. “Are you deaf?”

The boy eyed him with amusement as his fingers danced along the mesh, green table. “You have pretty eyes,” he commented with a small smile, seemingly bathing in the counselor’s dark aura.

Sebastian shoved the glasses back into place and leaned back into his chair, choosing to tap his pen irritably against the clipboard than dignify the comment with a response. Seconds ticked by and the boy stay rooted in place.

“What are you still doing here? Move the fuck along, kid.”

“I’m twelve,” the boy said.

“Congratulations.” 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” the blue-eyed boy remarked, easily ignoring his response.

“Maybe you’re just blind.”

“So you’re new,” the boy concluded with a small grin, propping his elbows onto the table and resting his cheeks on his fists. 

“No shit,” Sebastian replied. “You get a fucking cookie. Now get your skinny ass away from me. Looking at your face is ruining my morning.”

The kid laugh, almost surprising Sebastian. Any other kid his age would be running away and crying or sputtering, or, finding his words offensive, would be avoiding him like the plague, but the kid threw his head back and laughed good-heartedly, giving the man the impression that he actually enjoyed the conversation that transpired between them.

“I like you...” he said, eyes trailing down to the expanse of the counselor’s torso, “Sebastian,” he finished as soon as he caught a glimpse of the man’s name tag hanging around his neck.

“I don’t like you, so beat it. You’re impeding traffic.”

The boy pushed himself away from the table and took one glance behind him. “There’s no one behind me,” he stated, folding his arms across his thin torso.

“Oh, shit, was I being too subtle? I meant to say ‘fuck off’.”

The boy grinned, a bright and annoying smile. “I’ll see you around, Sebastian,” he sang good-naturedly, wiggling his fingers at the man before walking away with a bounce in his step.

“No, you fucking won’t,” the man muttered.

And the horn blew. And Sebastian’s shitty ass Tuesday began.


End file.
